In The Pensieve's Keep
by Meg Kenobi
Summary: Just away from Potter's eyes, the Pensieve held memories even more horrible and scarring. Chapter Three: Snape rides to Hogwarts for the first time.
1. Default Chapter

In The Pensieve's Keep by Meg Kenobi Rating: PG-13 for now. No bad language, but violence and disturbing imagery. Summary: Severus Snape didn't put only one memory into the Pensieve. What other horrible memories escaped Potter's prying eyes?  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I know you're shocked. I make no profit from writing this.  
  
Author's note: I'm embarking upon a series of vignettes and right now I'm not sure how many there will be. Note that these might not be in chronological order. I'm basing these on what we know of Snape, what Potter saw in the Pensieve, and what Potter saw in Snape's mind. Kindly Review!  
  
Chapter One: Dark Desire  
  
He pushed his horse into a full gallop, desperate to put as many miles as possible between himself and home. Severus sighed bitterly, twisting his hands in the reins. Home was where everything was wrong. He felt guilty for running off on one hand, but what was he supposed to do? The bastard had turned on him again. His mother was huddled on the floor with the terrified house elves flocking to aid her. His father had followed him out to the stable, but was too drunk and too stupid to saddle his own mount. With any luck he was already passed out on the barn floor.  
Go back, you coward, the voices hissed in his mind. Go back and face him like a man. Protect your mother. But his father was a larger man by far and had often proved his ability to thoroughly beat the scrawny fifteen year old. He wanted to weep; to scream. Anything to release the agony mirrored in the scars that marred his arms and thighs. Instead he just rode harder.  
"Come on, Des," he urged his horse forward. Brambles and trees and fallen logs tore by at a miserable speed, but he cared for none of it. Instead he concentrated on the movements of the fine beast he rode. The horse was the only good thing Severus could remember ever getting from his father. Dark Desire, or Des for short, had been his Christmas present three years ago. His father always tried to make up for what he lacked in parenting with extravagant indulgences. She had been a fine race horse before she'd developed a nasty temper and habit of biting. Severus had related to the jet mare, though and she was docile and tame under his direction. Maybe it was the shared history of being kicked around and put on show. In a way, Dark Desire was just another way for his father to remind him of his inferiority. His father had four horses himself, all of them flashy and exotic stallions with excellent temperaments. Severus didn't care, though. He thought his horse was magnificent.  
It had been, in fact, the only thing that made the thought of the summer holiday bearable. He had managed to come up with excuses to stay at school over Christmas most years, but during summer there was no where to go but home. Two weeks had passed without event, but it had given Severus no comfort. Rather, it made him constantly nervous, waiting for the moment that would bring it all crashing down in an implosion of blood and broken glass. There was always some stupid little thing that angered his father beyond reason or reconciliation. He struggled to remember what it had been this time. Dinner. That had to have been it. He didn't know exactly what it was, for he was not permitted to eat with his father. Something about, "That disgrace ruins my appetite." All Severus knew was that he had come downstairs to the sound of blows landing and dishes breaking. He had wanted to intervene, but had just stood frozen with fear, watching the assault. Although it had felt like a small eternity had passed, Severus now doubted it had been much more than a minute before his father had spotted him in the doorway and dropped his pleading mother.  
His father had come at him with a terrifying venom in his eyes. Something told Severus that if the man was given the chance to catch him, he would not live to see the morning. He fled. Four long years of torture at the hand of the Marauders had granted him speed if nothing else. He had Des bridled and was cinching the girth before his father even reached the barn. He wished he could risk stunning his father, but an expulsion would send him right back here in disgrace. The Marauders seemed like his best mates next to his father. So he had rode on, looking back only once to see his father sway drunkenly under the weight of the saddle he had seized.  
Darkness was closing in around Severus as the last golden bands of sunlight faded from the West. He knew he shouldn't have taken his horse out so late. He decided to take her a bit farther to where the path split to a more direct route back to the stable. From there, he thought, he could walk her back. Distracted by the planning, his reverie and the dawning night, Severus noticed the fallen tree a moment to late for a proper reaction. He should have tried to stop Des. Had he had a moment to think, he would have realized that the mammoth log was settled in a rut on a path already sloping uphill. However, he was flying by instinct now. Before any reason played through his mind, the mediocre rider had edged into an ill timed jump seat. Horse and rider weren't going to jump clear, he realized as they leapt right at the obstacle. In his last moment of clear thought, he yanked his feet free of the stirrups, preparing for whatever came next.  
His sense of the accident would never quite be clear. He heard a sickening crunch. He had sailed backwards off his horse. Rolled across the sharp litter of the forest floor. Cracked his head on something hard. Darkness. He awoke to the taste of blood and earth ripe in his mouth. As he spat, he heard most horrible sound of his life; a wretched, pained keening.  
"Des?" he trembled. "Des!" His voice howled as his memory reassembled itself. He pulled himself back up the hill on an ankle shooting with hot agony.  
The sight of the broken beast was one that would haunt his nightmares for the rest of his life. Des's front legs were undoubtedly crushed, pinned between her own weight and the log she had landed on. Her hind legs pawed frenzied and hopeless at the earth below them. Severus looked at her once and vomited. Fear and horror flooded him. He had no idea what to do and all the while his beloved horse as raising her head and bellowing in anguish. What could he do? What could he do? His mind raced. He could try to hobble back home on his bad ankle and lead them back to her in his own ill repair. But who would he lead back? His father wouldn't help him, and his mother wouldn't dare defy his father. The same went for the house elves. His little sister? Even more helpless.  
Severus felt his mind reel. What did they do for horses with broken legs? Maybe he could go home, make a potion . . . But each theory lead him to the same sickening fact; any plan of action ended with him leaving Dark Desire all alone in agony. Every moment he left her would prolong her pain with no real hope of relief. Ever.  
He felt in the front pocket of his robe. By some small miracle his wand remained unbroken. He fingered it, but no. No. He would be expelled, no question. There was no possible way to justify it. Unless . . . hadn't the book said that such profoundly dark magic was too difficult to trace and slipped by Ministry officials because it didn't draw from the same sources of regular magic? No! The voices railed again. That's not an option. But it was the only option. He looked into Des's eyes and they were wild with pain. No being should know such pain, he told himself. I have to end her suffering. He told himself these things until he believed them. He raised his wand with a calm and steady hand and said the words.  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
A flash of green and Des never moved again. Severus touched the still warm flesh tentatively at first and then buried his face her mane. He wept, cried for the poor horse, the wasted beauty. More than anything, he cried for the feel of the curse. The feel that all the darkness and torment within him had compounded and focused as sheer energy. He felt lightened of a bit of it, a coursing relief like the intentional spilling of his blood. But this was relief from spilling life from another. He buried the emotions under self-loathing and guilt, but found he could not hide the thrill of slaughter. 


	2. Back to Before

Just away from Potter's eyes, the Pensieve held memories even more horrible and scarring. Chapter One told of Snape's first use of the killing curse. Now, in chapter two, a horrible incident shows Severus just how little has changed since his school days.  
  
In The Pensieve's Keep by Meg Kenobi Rating: PG-13 for now. No bad language, but violence and disturbing imagery. Summary: Severus Snape didn't put only one memory into the Pensieve. What other horrible memories escaped Potter's prying eyes? Chapter Two: An unfortunate incident shows Snape how little intramural House biggotry has changed since his days as a student.  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I know you're shocked. I make no profit from writing this.  
  
Author's note: First off, this chapter is tied to Suffer the Children, another one of my fics. It is not at all necessary to read both, but it's sort of a "if you enjoyed one, you might enjoy the other" deal. This chapter is not as dark as the last; infact, there are a few feeble attempts at humor. It is set roughly five years prior to The Philosopher's Stone. Please understand that I am not one of those individuals who could draw you a map of Hogwarts; my logistics are a little funky.  
  
Chapter Two: Back to Before  
  
He did not know quite what it was that had sparked the sudden cold dread of intuition, the flooding knowledge that something was terribly wrong. He had been prowling the halls, knowing that the fair weather that was threatening to descend at any moment had a tendency to awake the mischief in the students that the dark winter had subdued temporarily. The evening was quiet and still, however, as he continued to walk the halls. It had flooded him then; some instinctive defensiveness honed by too many years steeped in darkness and isolation.  
  
Snape pulled his wand and whirled fiercely on his heel, acutely aware of a presence lurking behind him.  
  
"A-anything amiss?" Said a trembling Professor Quirrel, eyeing the wand anxiously.  
  
"Aside from the knowledge that half this school is Slytherins and Gryffindors waging constant war against each other and that it logically follows that inevitably something somewhere is amiss every waking moment of any given day in the life of your average insomiatic head of house? Aside from that, no, no obvious sights, sounds, or smells of mischief. That, however, is no proof of relentance from the more troublesome nature of our students."  
  
"Old sp-spider senses just tingling, then?" Quirrell followed this with a nervous chuckle that hiccoughed into a hysterical stream of choking sound. "S-s-so sorry, b-bad joke, eh?"  
  
Severus offered what he considered his most ingratiating sneer. Quirrel was blatant in attempts to befriend the distant Potions master, attempts that Snape rebuffed with even less subtlety.  
  
"Any particular reason you're tailing me?" Snape growled, annoyed that Quirrel had interrupted his heated pursuit of whatever it was that had lit his panic.  
  
"I h-heard a bit of a commotion in m-my classroom. N-nothing m-m- missing, best I could tell. I thought maybe you h-heard it too."  
  
"Thank you for the warning, I'm sure they are up to something and will certainly return to you any properly labeled stolen property."  
  
"I l-labeled everything in the lab af-after the last round of th- thefts," Quirrel nodded thoughtfully. Snape furrowed his brow, making a mental note to explain sarcasm to the Dark Arts professor. He turned off towards the main hall. He had been walking past the main doors when he was consumed by a sickening sense of déjà vu. An unnatural number of students were congregating around the lake on the raw March evening. Snape flung the door open and strode purposefully over the grounds, the frosted grass crunching underfoot. He could see a uniformed student, identity unclear, but he feared too easily guessed, stumbling over the bank towards the water's edge. As he neared the knot of quiet, watching students, he finally pieced together what was going on.  
  
He spotted the demonic glow of their lamps first. At first he was not sure what the ghostly, dim glow was, but shortly connected it to their wispy little bodies and their horribly wicked eyes. There were two of them, no doubt stolen from the Dark Arts classroom where they were kept in a covered tank; their disappearance would not have been immediately noted. One was ahead of the student, leading her down to the dark water, while the other lurked behind, eager for the kill. He was running now, though looking back he would not remember breaking his earlier stride. He would only remember that distant form collapsing into the water. The creatures growing frenzied as they lured her to submerge herself. The girl's face going under.  
  
Severus hit the edge of the water and suddenly the congregation broke its stupor and scattered towards the school. Given the urgency of the moment, he disregarded them and instead pulled his wand, obliterating the pair of hinkypunks. Banished, their sway over the student suddenly broke, and the surface of the water broke with her thrashing. With unrealized strength, his arms were around the girl, pulling her free of the weeds and muck, hauling her to the embankment. As he laid her down, the course of adrenaline died away, leaving him violently aware of the icy cold of the water, so sharp it burned. Shivering, he bent over the student, who was choking on lake water and convulsing with fear and cold. He looked at her face for the first time and his earlier suspicions were confirmed; the scrawny little thing he had pulled from the lake was one of his own fifth year students, Strava Dolohov.  
  
He felt particularly responsible for her. She was wise enough to never speak it, but seemed drawn to him, drawn to their shared history, his familiarity with her father. She well aware of his past affiliations, and seemed to sense that he too had been miserable among his peers, something she understood too well. The other students had hated her in name already; they jeered the first time when they read her name to be Sorted. When her cold eyes searched them for sympathy as her calculated determination placed her in Slytherin, they had all the proof they needed. Some of their parents were Aurors, the rest simply remembered the fear of Voldemort's reign of terror. She was in the house they instinctively hated. It did not help either that she was incredibly studious. While she did not posses any particular skill or even competency with a wand, she had taken with great skill, attention, and fascination to Potions, earning his respect and greater venom from students with considerably less aptitude. By all accounts and purposes, Strava Dolohov, weak, timid, and bookish, was an enemy of Gryffindor.  
  
"We need to get you into the school, you need to see Madame Pomphrey. I will speak to Dumbledor about what happened." He lifted her to her feet, and supported her weight against his own body. Her small frame was trembling furiously.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the jagged edges of her voice were beating a ragged cadence of apologies. She stumbled and he tightened his grip around her waist, literally seeing red. Seething anger was coursing through him.  
  
"Do not apologize. You were foolish to take whatever bait they used to lead you to the lake, but that does not mean you deserved this. And Dumbledor will understand that once they released the hinkypunks, all action was beyond your control. Who did this, Strava?" Snape asked.  
"Weasleys. Bill and Charlie. And Mick Unkas." They walked silently, the distance to the school seeming much greater at the careful speed he lead her. After a long few minutes, she spoke. Her voice was thin but even.  
  
"At first I wasn't scared. The light was so consuming, it just filled me. I felt I had to follow the warmth, or return to the cold hollowness . . . I never consciously chose to follow and I don't think I could have chosen to turn away. Because it wasn't frightening or horrible, but the moment their control over me snapped, the coldness and the dark were all around me, I couldn't breath, and every wretched thing they had displaced from my mind came rushing back into the void. And that's what's unbearable. Every horror, every tragedy, every moment of agony is so fresh and grating it feels like it just happened," the girl's voice broke suddenly. The girl who had looked down her nose at teenage melodrama and had never cracked under stress was crying helplessly on his arm. He quickened his stride, fighting back the sickening familiarity of the entire scene. It was too similar to the cruelty that had been the Gryffindor standard for his entire student career. He finally reached the school's main doors, shocked to have them opened for him by a bustling Professor McGonagall.  
"Bring her in here. I came as soon as Mr. Weasley told me what he witnessed at the lake. I will take her from here, Severus, you're soaked."  
"Misters Weasley, Weasely, and Unkas, were responsible for this, Minerva," Snape glowered at her. He was vaguely aware that Madame Pomphrey had stepped between them, wrapping the girl in a blanket and pulling her off with her.  
"Professor Snape--," Dolohov's voice was small and frightened as she was lead away.  
"She will take care of you Strava. Minerva, given your earthshattering observation that I am wet, I will go change. I trust we will continue this soon in Dumbledore's office?"  
"If you insist upon your intervention--."  
"My intervention is the only reason that student is alive."  
"Hogwash."  
"I will meet you in his office. This has gone too far."  
Fifteen minutes later, Severus Snape stormed into Albus Dumbledore's office, not bothering to hide his fury.  
"Headmaster, I presume we will spend tonight arranging the expulsion of these three," he growled, pointing dangerously at the boys Strava had identified.  
"Severus, do not be so quick in your judgment. Let them give you the explanation they have offered before we order their execution. Take a seat, listen to what they have to say. Have a biscuit. Is that too much to ask?" Albus replied, unnervingly calm and fair. Severus lowered himself into a chair with great reluctance and no intention whatsoever of accepting a snack in his foul mood. He did not miss the smirk on Bill's face as he stared into his lap in mock repentance.  
"Mr.--Master--Professor Snape, sir, we are so terribly sorry. We were in the Dark Arts classroom. We were messing with some of the . . . things in there, it's true," Charlie began, mouthpiece of the group. "Bill keeps bragging about how he can take on anything, so we kept on loosing things for him to, you know, stop. It was so stupid, sir. But he was amazing. The hinkypunks, though, they threw him. He just kind of stared dazed at them as they were escaping, so we chased after them. A couple of other Gryffindors were passing and tried to help us. We hit the water and they sort of stunned us. Dolohov was already down at the lake, honest, probably hoping to get someone in trouble. And she seemed blinded by them, started following them into the water. We would have stopped her, but we were frozen. We never meant anyone to get hurt. Honest, Professor, it was an accident." Bill seemed to be barely restraining a laugh.  
"You rehearsed that little excuse how many times exactly?" Snape snapped. "Hinkypunks do not enchant masses and they do not randomly switch targets during a hunt."  
"Perhaps given Miss Dolohov's mother's--unfortunate. . .and her father's state . . ."  
"No point in euphemisms, Headmaster; they mock her for it constantly, they are well aware."  
"Very well. Severus, Hinkypunks are distant cousins of the Dementor. They are drawn to suffering with an insatiable hunger. A mother's suicide and father's incarceration could have proven an overwhelming attraction, allowing a deviation from what we consider their normal behavior."  
"Forgive me, Headmaster, but as far as unadulterated exposure to the Dark Arts, I do believe I am the expert in this room. Their story makes no sense. But I suppose that does not matter. You always have taken a rather unconcerned stance on attempted murder, haven't you?"  
"Stand down, Severus, before you say something you will regret. Dumbledore is not ignoring this; all three will be receiving two weeks of detention," Minerva cut in, but he was too angry.  
"Detention? Detention! That's your idea of taking this seriously? Admit it, Headmaster, you don't care what happens so long as the victim won't be missed. As long as the dead one is only a generation away from a Death Eater. You do realize that you all assumed James hated me because I had the potential to fall to the Dark Arts, but it was his torment, him and Black, pushed me over under your negligence. The warning signs were there, but you brushed them off. I was the antagonist, they had an excuse, they feigned apology, they backed out and did not actually kill me -- each time you found a way to let them off and you_ruined_me. I am a grown man, Headmaster, and I have redeemed myself. You have yet to redeem your neglect of your lesser house. Your last shot at redemption nearly died tonight, and she is already more interested in her father's legacy, more defensive of it than we should have ever let her become. But you don't give a damn. She's got the wrong house, wrong body, wrong name. Just like twenty years ago. Scrawny little Slytherin's don't deserve your protection." The words felt like they should be screamed or sobbed, but he held his taut monologue, clutching at the chair's arms. "And nothing has changed."  
  
PLEEEASE Review. I'm growing discouraged here, kids . . . 


	3. Beginnings of an Unraveling

Just away from Potter's eyes, the Pensieve held memories even more horrible and scarring. Chapter One told of Snape's first use of the killing curse. In chapter two, a horrible incident showed Severus just how little has changed since his school days.  
  
In The Pensieve's Keep

by Meg Kenobi

Rating: PG-13 for now. No bad language, but violence and disturbing imagery.   
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I know you're shocked. I make no profit from writing this.  
  
Author's note: This has become sort of an interesting project; recreating the worst moments of a life. Exhausting, though. Feel free to make suggestions  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
_"Severus, dear, it is the natural order of things, a young man learns at first from his tutors and his parents, but darling, we have exhausted our knowledge on you, you learn so quickly, so well, it is time you go to a school where they can teach you properly," she smiled sadly as she spoke, the corners of her mouth cracking with dried blood as she consoled her son.  
_ Severus pushed the trolley with quaking arms, the station was huge, full of filthy muggles, brushing by him, touching him; no one touched him, save in anger. He had not tolerated his mother's touch in years, and yet these vile beings allowed their contaminated flesh to graze his. His posture imploded from the proud pureblood to a curling terror, leaning close over his owl's cage, greasy hair grazing his precious books.  
_"You're strong and brave; you'll have no trouble adjusting. You already insist upon doing everything for yourself, dear."_  
He had no idea where the platform was, how to board. He watched other wizarding families until he figured how to bridge the barrier, too proud and too afraid to ask. He was terrified and alone as he entered the crowded station. His pen friend was attending Beauxbatons and unlike other first years, he had no friends from earlier schooling or other programs.  
_"And besides, Love, your cousin James is starting there this year as well, so it is not as though you will be alone; you already have a friend." He couldn't bear to tell her that his 'dear' cousin had pushed him from the broom when he had fallen and broken his arm last year, James having lured him out flying on a dare.  
_ A dark haired, undeniably handsome young man jogged up from behind him and grabbed him violently, gripping his shoulders and wrenching him back into his compartment.  
"Well, well, if it isn't my ickle little cousin. Snivellus, meet my new friends. Sirius went to quidditch camp with me this summer. Unlike some, my unfortunate relation, he can actually fly. All you do is fall, if you will recall," two of the other three snickered, having obviously been told of James's antics. "Anyway, this is Sirius's mate Remus. And -- what was your name?"  
"Peter, Peter Pettigrew," the plump boy said eagerly, extending his hand. Sirius yanked him back.  
"You dolt, he's not a friend. Why would you want to touch him? Just look at that greasy hair. Imagine what might be on his hands." The four laughed again.  
"You watch out, Snivellus, we'll be watching you. Now get back to your trunk before someone steals one of your beloved books. Go get your own compartment, stick that beak in a book, and start studying one of your dark little spells, because I still haven't forgiven you for being related to me." With that, James seized the back of his robes and threw him gracelessly out of the compartment.  
A chubby, round-faced girl was smirking at him; she had been watching the charming Black and Potter and had already called her allegiance. She mimicked his angry sneer, inclining her head sharply so her auburn, mousy hair spilled across her face like his, mimicking someone being tossed into the hall. Two of the other girls in her compartment giggled.  
"Don't be cruel, Molly," the third said softly, her hair red like fire, falling in sleek waves around a beautiful fair face. Severus implored her acid green eyes desperately as he rose, his heart pounding in ecstatic hope, but she merely closed the door, watching him in pity. He decided to hate her perfect beauty.  
_ "I know you were hoping for Durmstrang. Yes, for the Dark Arts they are exceptional, and for Potions, Beauxbatons is marginally better, but darling, the connections you will make at Hogwarts will be so much more important."  
_ A boy was helping him to his feet, glaring at the two girls through a curtain of silvery blond hair. He straightened, looking down his nose as if at something particularly foul.  
"Pathetic. The nerve. That Evans, filthy little mudblood yet acts like she has a right to be here. And her little friend there, Father has told me all about her. Pureblood family, yet an insult to their blood; they live in absolute squalor, and apparently her father's a roaring drunk. Just like those damned Weasleys. There's one over there, by the far door. Red hair, looks like he hasn't bathed in a week? Yes, that's the one. He's in fourth year, absolute vulgarity of a pureblood, obsessed with Muggle studies. It's humiliating to all of us."  
"How -- how do you know all this?"  
"I'm in second year, besides, Father tells me things. He's in line to be Minister, after all. Your name would be Snape, wouldn't it? You look enough like your father, he works at the Ministry, of course. My father, too. I've seen yours around when I visited Father. He told me about your family, naturally. Still upholding the honor of the true wizarding world, even though so many insist on violating it."  
_"Moreover, darling, you need to get away from here." Her voice was tensing, her eyes clouding with tears. "You need to get away from your father, from this awful place. You will learn, you will grow stronger than him. You're already a better man than he is. You deserve to go where they will accept you, love you."  
_ "C'mon, we're starting a "purebloods only" compartment, my girlfriend and I along with Lestrange, you'll do well once I introduce you, Snape, just as well as your father, at least." Severus stared back at the others, congregating and laughing amongst themselves, absently aware he was crossing some invisible line into the future as he stepped from the glaring bright into a dim compartment, shades pulled on the windows and door, full of angry faces.

PLEEEASE Review. 


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